I want to find interesting and unusual ways of phrasing myself. I strive towards it constantly and with all the determination I can muster. There is a form of yearning inside of me. A want, for something that differs from the regular modes of expression. To discover an intriguing little mountain path that leads me up into the winding caverns of the imagination. Byways that diverge and distract you for a while but that ultimately take you back down towards the main road. Of truth. Hopefully with a new appreciation for its many nuances. My intention is to be someone's weirdest conversation. The anecdote they retell at parties as an example of convoluted associations, strange wording and mind blowing entertainment value. And at the same time I wish to remain both truthful and honest. Unfortunately there appears to be no consistency of quality in any of my musings. Sometimes I have a way with words, at other times I simply have my way with them. Off-putting to some. I'm perfectly fine with being alone for longer periods of time. It gives me the chance to reflect on things. A much needed inventory and reorganisation of the warehouse that is my mind. Aloneness also carries with it a sense of security and calm. One does not have to consider anything more than the thoughts that are racing through your head. Bouncing off of one another. Sparking new but partially mangled ideas. I suspect what inspires me to make such efforts at communicating is a quest for intimacy. A true feeling of belonging is what ties these periods of solitude together into something meaningful. The world is a wonderful place containing endless possibilities, with terrible consequences. Existence as a dimly lit carnival of extremes. Intimacy is what smooths over the jagged edges you might encounter in the dark. Verbiage is my entrance pass. Listen to it.

I just want things to be slightly closer together than they are right now. Think of how much space, time and energy we would save if they were. Imagine the savings we would make during the course of a year. What if your bedroom was a few steps closer to the front door. The kettle a little bit closer to your cup. A far off country not quite so far off, just down the road. Things would run much smoother, take less time and you would be closer to all the things you love. Mind you, it would also mean that you were closer to the more unpleasant things. But nothing good without some bad. That's what your grandmother says, probably. And with my plan her house would be closer to yours as well. No excuses left to not go see her, you lazy bum!
If we just started moving things closer together by even a fraction we'd save a surface area the size of, let's say, Belgium. Think of all the stuff we could put there. Like all of our garbage and meaningless nicknacks. Although arguments could be made that Belgium is already filled with frivelous crap. Nevertheless it would free up lots of space for items we need. Such as cement mixers and movie parlors. Hoist, move and bind things together. A glimmering economical future is on the horizon. With gusto we set sail for frugality and delectation. Hoorah!

Sex as a subject has become rather pathetic, to be frank. The myth that those who sleep with a lot of random people are really confident is complete and utter horse shit. In my experience men and women who behave in this way are in fact incredibly insecure. Constantly seeking confirmation and reassurance that they are as beautiful as they have convinced themselves. Is that acting secure?
Turning sex into some sort of power game or just immediate gratification drains it of all passion. I don't want sex to just be pieces of meat flapping against one another. Marinated in alcohol and anxiety. People shouldn't be picked up like accessories. You are not the centre of the cosmos. Your fleeting happiness is not the answer to the mysteries of life. Get over yourself. And the two of you clumsily jamming your genitals together on your room mates well-worn old couch is not passionate and sexy. No matter how many times you repeat this lie to yourself in an attempt to maintain that hard on/stay wet.
I gave up one night stands some time ago. At first it wasn't a moral choice or even one that came out of any deeper introspection. It was just a path taken out of a practical nature. People in general are absolutely terrible at fucking. Just awful. The quality was never as good as with someone I got a little bit familiar with. People who have such low self-esteem that they pathologically need to swallow another human beings bodily fluids every weekend tend to not have been in many meaningful relationships of any greater lengths. Therefore they have, out of a strictly numerical standpoint, fucked far fewer times. Practice makes perfect. There appears to be a tipping point where the quality of the bedroom shenanigans and the quantity of sexual partners converge and then invert. Both in a grander scheme and in specific situations.
Taking pride in appearing sexually attractive to people who will fuck just about anything is like being proud that you are Garry Glitter's search engine of choice. It's at best quite meaningless, at worst loathsome.
Tickling the fancy of someone you find to be truly unique. Having them share their innermost contrivances. Being able to disappoint in a painful way. That is sexy. That is beautiful. Poking someone in the groin while trying to refrain from spewing because of the motion and too much tequila is not. Unknown people are not. Acting tough will never be.

This is the end part of the page. There's really nothing here. Every time you reach this part you've gone too far. Scroll back up. Or imagine there's a beautiful unicorn here, and tell a friend about it.